New Gotham: An Echoing Laugh
by LordAdamant
Summary: Over a decade after the two Titans of Gotham, the Dark Knight and the Clown Prince of Crime, fell to their deaths in their final battle. Now, a new generation has decided to take up the mantle. And this time, the line between order and chaos is more tenuous than ever. Joey Quinzel has stepped from the darkness to take up his father's bloodstained mantle.
1. The Chase

A light rain falls upon the city, the buildings already grimy and beginning to fall apart despite being barely over a decade old. The sky is a rolling sheet of gray, interrupted by flashes of lightning. In an all but forgotten alleyway, trash lays about, scattered by some long past impact. Broken glass glitters in the flash of lightning, as does a set of eyes, wide with fear. The eyes sit below a ragged mop of brown hair and above a blood spattered face.

One side of the owner's head is covered in blood, a ragged flap of flesh all that remains of what was once an ear. Pained panting can be heard below the storm's roar as the man rushes down the alley, a once fine black suit ruined by rain and blood his only defense against the elements. His shoes are long gone. From the darkness, a light, feminine voice states in a sing-song voice, "Joey's gonna getcha!"

He stumbles over a fallen can while looking over his shoulder, his hands taking the brunt of the damage as he reaches out to save himself. As he rights himself, a maniacal cackle echoes along the alley, coming from everywhere and nowhere. The man stumbles and continues his mad dash down the alley and into a deserted street. Smashed cars stand sentinel at every corner. At his screams, fearful eyes peer from the grime-windows, only to recede into the darkness. His screams go unattended.

Halfway down the street, he falls to the ground, writhing in obvious pain. As he recovers, he turns back, a nightmarish visage before him. Rain slicked green hair pulled back into a ponytail, a bone pale face with glittering green eyes. And the grin. A wide, cracked, bloody grin.

"Now, now, why are you running, Mr. Allen?" he asks, madness ringing in his voice. His clothes are soaked through, from his purple vest and white shirt to his green pants and purple shoes. Even his battered green tie is dark with rain. He laughs and looks his prey in the eyes. "I haven't made my _point_ yet!" To emphasize said point, his hand flashes out, grasping the knife Mr. Allen had drawn from his pocket, swiftly reversing it and planting it in the man's own shoulder. He screams in pain as the blade rips into his flesh. He slumps, blacking out, only to be awakened by a massive shock.

The grinning man smiles wider, a small rivulet of blood sliding down his face in the rain, a toy gun in his hand sparking from the shot fired into Mr. Allen. "Come now, Mr. Allen. The party's not over yet." He cackles again, as a new addition approaches from behind, a massive mallet held in slight hands, lightning framing a slender form as the mallet is raised.

Settling it upon her shoulder, the mallet wielder laughs and smiles. "You got him, Joey." A red handprint can be seen faintly upon her cheek, swelling slightly obscuring a blue eye. Stray strands of bright blonde hair are caked against her forehead. "Hey, I got an idea!" She smiles and giggles, waving at the prostrated Mr. Allen. "Let's help him lose his mind." Her black and red harlequin outfit is soaked and clings to her frame, her small matching skirt slumping in the rain.

Laughing, Joey turns back to Mr. Allen. "Yes, let's help him." Replacing his gun in his purpe vest, he reaches down and sits upon Mr. Allen's chest, planting his hands around the man's throat. Gripping tight, he lifts up, slowly increasing the pressure. Mr. Allens writhes in pain, grasping futilely at Joey's hands. "This is for hurting my sister, my Jessie."

"Please," he rasps out. "J-Joker, I'm s-s-sorry." Slowly, Joey pulls harder and harder. People begin to file into the streets, surprise and confusion on every face as they watch the scene before them. "I'll n-never hurt her a-a-again," he rasps, just as Joey gives his neck one last tug, pulling Mr. Allen's head from his shoulders in a long, grinding pull. Blood pours out, staining the ground and Joey's pants.

"No, you won't," he says, his smile slowly fading into a content smirk. Behind him, Jessie laughs and comes to her brother's side. "And I told you," he says, looking out upon the assembled thugs. A lightning flash rings out, the blood glistening as it runs into the drains.

"Call me Kid J."


	2. Proving a Point

_1 hour earlier_

"Hey! Get me another drink!"

Shouts are tossed back and forth in the dive, some for drinks, others for blood. The place is falling apart but packed with the scum of New Gotham. The wood floor is rotting from years of abuse from spilled drinks and blood, and the walls aren't faring much better. The counter was once fine marble, but any past grandeur is hidden under a layer of dirt and grime.

In the back sits the master of it all. Mr. Allen. Dull brown hair and a penchant for nice suits, he's no better than any of the other thugs present. He just has enough money to say he's the boss. For now...

"Hey, I said I want another drink!" Mr. Allen yells at the nearest waitress, a new girl on the shift. Doe eyed with curly red hair, she's an easy target for these remorseless goons. "What are you, stupid?" When she gets close, he overturns the tray, spilling a number of drinks. "What'd you do that for?" he asks her sarcasticly. "Go get some more!"

As she scurries away, a knocking can be heard at the door. Mico, the doorman, turns to see who it is. Mico is a big guy, 6'6" of asian muscle, his spiked black hair, muscle shirt, and blood spattered jeans an intimidating image for any of the bar's patrons. Opening the door, he shouts at the newcomers, "Get the hell outta here before I-" He's cut off in mid-sentence, and the thugs closest to the door turn to watch...

...As he falls back, out cold. The noise stops while everyone stares. I saunter in, dressed in a white shirt, purple vest and shoes, and green pants and tie. My long green hair is back in a ponytail, and my face is pale white. In my hand I holds a toy gun lightly, confidently. Stepping in, I places it inside my vest, turning and holding out my hand.

"Come, Jessie."

A slim hand reaches out and is placed into mine as a young girl steps across the fallen Mico. Her black and red outfit touches at memories, while her skirt flutters as she steps off Mico's head. Her blue eyes glint with amusement. A large mallet is thrown over her shoulder, warding off many lecherous thoughts. But not all of them. One stupid thug, well into his drinks, stands, approaching the two and slurring out some pick up line. Jessie takes one look at him and laughs. Before he could react, she swings that mallet with impressive speed, knocking him down and out in a single over-head blow.

"That'll teach you to mess with my Little Jester," I say, walking into the middle of the bar. Looking around, my eyes lock onto Mr. Allen. "Ah, the famous Mr. Allen, keeper of Gotham Underground's pursestrings. It is an honor," I intone, bowing theatrically. As a thug stands to shout at me, I calmly pull my cap gun and shoot the guy. The thug locks up from a massive shock, and falls to the ground. Glancing up, dazed, he sees my pale face. "Please don't try that again." Standing up, I address the bar.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name Joey. Of course, my mother always called me her little Joker," I say, motioning wildly. "Maybe because I always looked so much like my father..." Patrons gasp as they realize what that may mean. "But, since we're all friends here," I say, directing it at Mr. Allen. "You can call me Kid J." Putting forth my hand, I watch Mr. Allen, the same grin I had when I walked in still on my face, a confident, cocky smirk.

Furious, Mr. Allen stands, murder in his eyes. "Who do you think you are, coming into MY bar, on MY turf, shooting MY men?" His clenched fists shake with rage.

"Don't talk to Joey like that!" Jessie yells, stepping in front of Mr. Allen.

In a fit of rage, Mr. Allen swings out with his left hand, slapping her across the face, a red handprint easily visible. She stumbles back and drops her mallet, tears in her eyes. The room is dead silent as I step forward and hold Jessie. When I turns to face Mr. Allen, I feel my grin growing, wider and wider. Jessie smiles and giggles as she sees the cracks appear, my lips turning red. "Now you're gonna get it," she says, reaching back for her mallet.

"Mr. Allen," I intone, a sing-song now in my voice. "Perhaps I should have warned you of my number one rule," I say, raising a finger. "Never. Touch. Jessie!" Shouting the last word, I reach out, not so cleanly ripping off Mr. Allens right ear. He begins to scream in pain, and his men stand up, drawing knives and guns, to be stopped as I pulls my cap gun. Then, I laugh. And everyone there, from the just recovering Mico to Mr. Allen himself shudders, as it is a perfect echo of my father's laugh, of the Joker's cackle.

_The Joker stands before them, risen again._

Leaping forward, I grab Mr. Allen by the throat, throwing him over the bar. Bottles shatter under the assault and patrons run in fear. "So you see, Mr. Allen, now I'm going to have to prove a point," I say, approaching the man's crouched form. Desperately, the man swings a bottle at me, causing me to flinch back. In this momentary opening, he jumps over the bar, grabbing three guys and setting them on me.

Laughing, I welcome their approach with open arms. The first to reach me is brought down by a swift overhead axe kick, crumpling to the ground. The second is blind-sided by Jessie's hammer, and blood begins to leak out of his ear. "Oops, Joey. Looks like I hit him too hard." Cackling, I drop the last thug with a single punch to the throat. He falls the ground, clutching his throat and gasping as his air supply is cut off. The first thug lies prone, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. The second only just stops twitching.

The others look on in fear at us, we, who marched into _their _place and dropped three of their number like it was nothing. They begin to recede, putting as much distance between themselves and us as possible. "Now then," I say, motioning to Mr. Allen. "Bring me Mr. Allen and only he will have to die. Get in my way," I warn, dropping a pile of clacking teeth toys. "And I detonate these, bringing the building down on every last one of you."

Silence rules as the teeth clatter and chatter to all corners of the room. Those present look about and come to a simple decision. Those directly around him grab Mr. Allen, pushing him towards the center of the room.

"What are you doing? Traitors!" he yells, flailing against his former comrades. He finally breaks free and makes a break for the door, jumping over Mico and running into the night, the storm just breaking over New Gotham.

Cackling again, I walk to the door, Jessie following close behind. Before leaving, I turn back, allowing Jessie to precede me. "It was fun, boys. But," I add, sighing. "I said you got to live ONLY if you gave him to me. You tried. And," I say, stepping outside. "You failed." Slamming the door, it locks, trapping the crowd inside.

Panicking, they begin rushing to any exit they could find. Only twenty escape before the teeth blow. They blow apart supports along the edge of the room, the blasts taking out many. As the building crumbles, those left inside scream as they are crushed. My laugh fills the night, echoing off the buildings, echoing my father. Those who escaped can only look amongst themselves, fear filling them. Fear that this isn't the last they've seen of Kid J. The new Joker.


	3. Just Another Day

Just Another Day

_Now..._

Walking up the steps to the apartment Jessie and I share, I think back over the night. At least, what I remember of it. _I lost control. Again._ I stop at our doorway, quickly undoing the multiple locks and ushering Jessie in, locking the door down behind us. It's a small, one-room loft, about seven feet cubed, an almost literal box, into which we have shoved a queen-sized mattress, two chester drawers, and a small table with a pitiful heater beneath it. The only other thing is a door on the side that leads to a small bathroom with nothing but a toilet and a sink, the entire thing about the size of a closet. _As soon as he hit her, all I get are fragments._ Once inside, she goes about her usual routine, setting her hammer by the door and stripping off her costume, which used to belong to our mother. As per usual, I turn to the side, going about my business and giving her all the privacy she can get in our home.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as she gets it all off, standing in nothing but her undergarments, and I can't help but acknowledge the fact that she's growing up. _She turns 18 next week. And I don't know what to do._ Lost in my thoughts, I don't notice her turn around and see me, or the mischevous glint in her eyes. In a flash, she's on my back, her chest pressing up against my back, her gleeful titter in my ear. Her hands are on my sides, digging into my weak points, and I feel it coming.

I begin laughing, my own laugh, not my father's, and reaching back to tickle her sides, the battle dead even until we are too tired to continue.

"Why so glum, Joey?" she asks, hanging off my back, still wearing next to nothing.

"I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that my little Jester, that my little Jessie is growing up on me."

Her arms wrap around my chest, pulling me close to her. "Don't worry, Joey. No matter how old I grow, I'll always be YOUR little Jester." She smiles into my back, and I can't help but smile. Genuinely smile, not my father's.

After a peaceful moment, she turns her head and bites on my shoulder blade, laughing as I jump. _Always the mischiveous one. Always has been._ She turns back around to her clothes, stripping off her bra like it's nothing while she picks out a new one. _And the same lack of modesty as ever._

I roll my eyes in defeat and turn to my own clothes, slowly peeling off my clothes. I start with my tie, carefully undoing it and folding it carefully, before putting in its drawer. _Dad's tie... I'm glad no blood got on it._ Next comes my vest, unbuttoned and placed on a pole to dry, my shirt follows. My shoes come off with a squish. They and my socks go under the table by the heater to dry. Finally, I peel off my soaked jeans, setting them on the pole beside my shirt and vest.

"Joey?" I look back at Jessie, who's now wearing an old t-shirt of mine, a simple grey shirt, and a loose pair of sleeping pants of the same dull grey. "I was wondering. Next week, for my birthday, could we go eat out somewhere?" she asks, looking like a little girl again.

Smiling, I enfold her in my arms, holding her close. "Sure. Tomorrow, after our errands, we'll go scout out somewhere that isn't beneath your grace." She laughs softly at my grandiose description.

"First, you might want to put on some pants," she mentions, referring to the fact that I'm still standing there in nothing more than a pair of boxers. She pushes me backwards playfully before jumping onto the bed, landing on her back, her hair now a total mess.

Chuckling, I reach over and grab some sleep pants before slipping onto the bed. Jessie sidles over and curls up against my chest, passing out almost instantly. My favorite time of the day, when she's asleep against my chest. _She always looks so much more peaceful like this,_ I think as I drift off beside her, my arms encircling her. _Keeping her safe..._

0

I'm awakened in the morning by the ever familiar sound of Jessie muttering in her sleep, usually about kicking some guy's face in or eating at a fancy restaurant. But this morning, she's going a little off script. "Hmm... Joey..." she mutters. "Your arms are so warm..." As she says this, the bottom of her sleeping shirt rides up, revealing her toned stomach. Laughing, I fix her shirt and kiss her forehead, getting out of bed slowly so as to not wake her suddenly.

I throw on a sweatshirt and walk out of our room, bounding down the steps and exiting onto the street. Outside lies one of the most destitute parts of New Gotham, nicknamed Lost Alley. Only the worst off of the city live here, off the grid. The cops never come, and that's perfect for us. Oddly enough, criminals don't do much around here. It's the one area of the city that most of the thugs ignore. "Most" is the keyword.

Turning the corner, I hear screams as people run away from Jessie's and my favorite diner. Sighing, I walk through the doors, taking in the situation at a glance. Three petty thugs have pulled guns on the joint, the remaining customers on the ground, afraid. I sigh as the door closes behind me and some of the patrons notice me. "It's him! It's Joey!"

The thugs jerk in surprise at this, turning to me. With my trademark grin plastered on my face, I jump into action. I lunge at the closest thug, the one with his weapon trained on the hostages. He makes a rookie mistake and tries to grab one of them, hoping it'll throw me off. _Idiot._ Before he can make half of the move, I have his shoulder in my grip, and I turn quickly, throwing him over my shoulder and at the next thug. They go down in a heap, both dazed. I turn to the last thug, who currently has the cute red-head who usually mans the register in his grip. Without a second thought, I raise the gun I had pulled from the first thug and fire three shots. The first one goes through the firing mechanism of the gun, as well as knocking it out of his hand. The second hits him in the shoulder, sending him spinning back and away from the girl. My last shot connects just as he turns back to me, going right between his eyes. He's down without a sound. I turn to the other thugs and finish them off cleanly, a single shot apiece. All in all, the entire incident lasted no more than seven seconds.

After a tense moment, the red-head crumples to the ground, fainting from the shock, and the other hostages get up to help her and congratulate me. Once again, I've defended my home. A few of the younger guys start stripping the thugs of anything useful before pulling them out the back to be thrown into the sewers. Just like the rest. I set the pistol on the counter, pushing it over to the side where the owner stands. He picks it up, putting it under the counter.

"Well, you did it again, Joey. Appreciate it." He reaches over the counter to shake my hand, and I accept it willingly, my smile now all my own, the one people around here know me as.

"No problem, Greg. Glad I could help." Sitting down, I pick up the menu like every day, going through the same decision-making process as usual before I order my usual. "Two stacks of hot-cakes, some sausage, and a thing of orange juice for the road."

"Comin' right up, Joey." He chuckles before going into the back to prepare my order.

I lean back on the stool as some of the other patrons walk by, patting me on the back and thanking me before moving on. One of them passes me a hot coffee, and I nod in thanks, slowly sipping it as I wait. The red-head finally wakes up, and her name finally comes to mind. "Joy, are you okay?" I ask, leaning further back on the stool.

She blinks and her eyes focus on me before filling with tears. She stands up suddenly, stumbling slightly, before coming over and throwing her arms around me, tears falling freely. "Thank you," she whispers, holding me tight. I sit there and take it, not sure how to react. Before anything more can happen, Greg comes out with my order.

"One usual, ready to- Well now, look what we have here," he says, laughing. "Looks like my girl's finally decided to tell you how she feels." I flush a full crimson as she jumps back, just as red and spluttering something about it "not being what it looks like" and "I told you not to say anything" or something like that. I simply grab my order, finish the coffee, drop some bills on the counter, and walk off.

0

"I'm home!" I call out as I walk through the door. She's sitting at the table, looking at the old family album, smiling faintly at time-battered memories. With a shake of her head, she closes the album and pushes it to the other side, looking up at me, the same faint smile. "Taking a stroll down memory lane, eh?"

She shakes her head again, clearing the rest of the debris off the table to make room for breakfast. "I was just flipping through the books when I remembered something. It's not important. So," she starts, changing the subject. "I heard some commotion down in the street. Some more punks try to mess with Mr. Bartonelli?"

I nod, sighing tiredly. "Don't worry, Greg and Joy are safe. There were three punks, but I took care of them."

She sighs in relief and nods, taking her share of the food and digging right in. _So relaxed..._ I chuckle at her nonchalance and dig into my own. _So innocent..._


End file.
